Christmas in Alagaesia!
by MizukiMai
Summary: It's Christmas Eve in Alagaesia and a big party has been planned. Needless to say, some of the outcomes of the havoc are a stressed Nasuada, an abused Solembum, and total chaos. R&R please! EXA, MXN, SXT


It was Christmas Eve in a snow-bound Alagaësia and

It.

Was.

_Chaos. _

By twelve o' clock noon, almost everyone was in their house wrapping last-minute gifts and mailing last-second letters.

How, you ask? By way of the Solembum Post—but that's a long (and, near the end, painful) story. If you're overly curious, let me tell you that it involves a large and rather heavy cast-iron frying pan in Nasuada's cook tent, a stressed-to-breaking Nasuada, an agonized Solembum, and a distraught Angela. You can fill in the blanks from there.

Anyway… Eragon, being his poor wretched self when it comes to love, was in his tent shredding love poem after love poem only seconds after it was written. The poor guy wasn't exactly a bard, you know, and Agaeti Blodhren speeches aside he wasn't great at composing something suitable for her Royal Heinieness Arya to read.

Murtagh, meanwhile, was lazing around on the floor of his room in Galbatorix's castle, brainstorming ways to: _a._ get out of the palace unnoticed and _b._ impress a certain dark-skinned governess of the Varden if and when he escaped.

Arya was sitting outside gazing absentmindedly at a Black Morning Glory and a gilded lily and trying to decide which she liked better.

Saphira was hunting deer in the forest outside of the camp. But that's sort of irrelevant.

Solembum was twitching feebly in a corner in Angela's shop, various healing herbs smeared on his now ragged coat.

A bell chimed once from somewhere within Surda. It was one o' clock and Eragon _still_ hadn't written a decent poem, Nasuada _still_ hadn't finished wrapping gifts and sending letters (now by way of the King Orrin Express, much to his displeasure), Murtagh _still_ hadn't found his way out of the castle, Arya _still_ hadn't decided whether she liked lilies or morning glories, and Solembum had a long way to go until he was completely healed and the lump on his head the size of an egg disappeared for good.

Two bells rang out.

Arya decided that she liked both flowers, but the lily drew her attention more.

Three bells.

Nasuada gave a sigh of relief. She had finished wrapping and mailing and it was only three o' clock.

Four bells.

Although the four o' clock chime was too far for Murtagh to hear, he estimated that it was around that time by looking at the sun's position in the sky. And just how did he see the sky? Well, he was riding on Thorn toward the Varden, of course, having found a way out of the palace!

Five bells.

Eragon made a final touch on his newest poem, read over it, and decided it was more than perfect.

Six bells.

Everybody got ready for the Christmas party that had been planned for seven o' clock on Christmas Eve. Saphira came down gracefully from the air and allowed Eragon to drape an embroidered saddle on her back, and he dressed in the outfit he usually wore to the elves' special occasions.

Nasuada had Farica help her into a heavy gold dress embellished with red and silver stitching and some of Du Vrangr Gata's lace. She pinned her hair up in a sweep and tied it with a red ribbon.

Arya wore a simple, one-shouldered white dress that was cinched at the waist with a black belt and a flower necklace. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she hoped Eragon wouldn't pass out when he saw her.

Angela was wearing… oh, I digress. I could sit here all day writing about what people wore. The point is, once seven bells rang, everyone was ready—finery on, perfume/cologne applied, makeup perfected.

The people invited gathered under a large silver marquee that was set up away from everything—about a half a mile away from the camp. They were on the edge of a forest.

Instantly, once every guest was under cover of the tent, they realized that they were no longer standing awkwardly under a tent; they were in a huge room, almost like a sitting room, with a crackling fire in the fireplace and plush couches and chairs to sit in. A dim gold glow lit the room.

"Nasuada." The governess turned to find Murtagh grinning at her.

"Oh, it's you. How are you—" she blinked once. "_Wait a second._ Murtagh?"

"Yeah. Who else would I be?"

She gave a shrill shriek and threw herself at the red Rider, tripping over the hem of her dress and falling in the process. In an effort to catch her, Murtagh sidestepped and grabbed her before she fell, but the weight of her dress paired with the weight of Nasuada herself just barely overbalanced him. As a result, he toppled into a surprised Eragon, who was just pulling out his poem to show Arya, who managed to stop the dominoes and grab the blue Rider by the arm before he crashed into Orrin.

The whole room burst out laughing. A few people were embarrassed, namely Murtagh and Nasuada, who were getting up from the Oriental rug where they had fallen, but Eragon was slightly pink-cheeked too with Arya still clutching him by the forearm.

Soon, drinks were served; and appetizers too, ranging from little pieces of buttered French bread with tomatoes to meatballs (courtesy of Angela).

A large space in the middle of the room was devoid of furniture and surrounded by tables. It was obviously a dancing area, and there was a huge skylight above it to let in moonlight.

Eragon mustered up the courage to ask Arya on the first dance, and when the princess stiffly agreed, the room erupted in cheers. Grinning sheepishly, the Rider led the elf girl out onto the dance floor as the music started.

The music was slow, and the pair's dancing was graceful. People sat at the tables and marveled as they spun—_and a one, two, three_—and dipped—_one, two, three_—and stepped, Arya's shoes clacking softly on the burnished wood.

Next a salsa came on, and Nasuada and Murtagh were dancing so exuberantly that other couples on the floor had to make room for them. Nasuada, for fear of tripping again, had rushed into her tent and put on an equally stunning but slightly shorter dress for the dance. Arya was dancing solo in the middle of the floor, Eragon watching her dreamily from the sidelines.

Blodhgarm was dancing with Trianna; Angela was doing a little jig on the edge of the floor.

Saphira and Thorn were flying overhead in a sort of aerial dance, too, and Eragon and Murtagh could feel both dragons trying to imitate the moves the humans did.

At ten o' clock, the crowd started to disperse. By eleven-thirty, the only stragglers were Murtagh, Nasuada, Thorn, Saphira, Eragon, and Arya.

Murtagh and Nasuada were speaking seriously in low voices at a table in a corner, his hand resting on hers. Eragon and Arya were milling around outside. Arya didn't notice that Eragon was steering them closer and closer to a clump of mistletoe.

Thorn and Saphira were perched in a pine, heads together, surveying the elf and the half-elf.

_Do you think they'll make it to the mistletoe?_ Asked Saphira mischievously.

_Probably,_ replied Thorn. _But Arya might slap him if he tries to… uh… kiss her or whatever you call it._

_Most probably._

Silence, and then:

_Saphira…_

_Yes?_

_Do you like me?_

Eragon suddenly found himself under the mistletoe with Arya. _What do I do now…?_

He leaned toward her a little. She took no notice; she was gazing up at the berries above them.

"Eragon?"

Eragon blinked, jolted out of his reverie. "What is it?"

Arya was squinting up at the mistletoe. "What is that?"

"Mistletoe." _Don't ask… don't ask… don't ask…_

"Isn't there a human ritual involved with it?"

"Uh… yeah." _Don't ask! Please, please don't ask!_

"What is it?"

Eragon gulped. This was going to be hard. "Er… you… you have to…"

"Have to what?"

"This." He took a deep breath and kissed Arya. She struggled against his grip for a moment, then gave up. Once Eragon pulled away, she said, "That was it?"

The blue Rider gave an involuntary twitch. What was Arya getting at…?

"Was that what you have to do?"

"Yeah."

"Oh." Arya scrutinized him for a moment, then pulled him out from under the mistletoe. "I like you, Eragon," she said quietly. "I tried to tell you before the battle, but I…" she stopped and laughed. "I am a coward."

Eragon's heart leaped. "Really?"

"Really! But this cannot come before Alagaësia. One elf cannot be more important than your land, Eragon. Do you swear to me that in our quest to defeat Galbatorix you won't put me first?"

That's when Eragon said his first 'I do'.

Saphira looked at Thorn with interest. _I like you a lot. I do._

Thorn grinned his trademark feral grin and said, _I do, too._

"Nasuada, will you help me get out of Galbatorix's control… and after that, if it happens… I have something to ask you."

"I will."

Two 'I do's and an 'I will'.

Good practice for marriage, right?

* * *

Come on, people! Press the little gray-and-green button to see what it does! You _know_ you want to! X3


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